Whipping boy
by SRC
Summary: After 05.08.2006 Raw. [MichaelsCena] What happens after the two athletes get the crap kicked out of them? My own take. Not slash but you can read into it what you want to.


"Whipping Boy"

By SRC

AN: You know the drill; I don't own anything you recognize. Comprende?

And this takes place after RAW on May 8th, 2006. It is not related to my other Michaels-Cena story. On with the show!

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John Cena's head was spinning. White clouds had settled in his vision and it didn't seem as if they were about to blow over anytime soon. He had climbed to his knees and had to rest there for a few minutes before his mind and his body registered the large gasps of air he was inhaling. While there, he let his head roll down so that his chin was touching his heaving chest, right above his sternum.

He could see his chest rising and lowering, and he thought he could see his heart beating underneath the thin layers of skin. He could see red rope marks beginning to form and bruises speckled his chest. A headache was blooming where is head had met the ugly gray of the rings mat. He opened his eyes wide and squeezed them shut a couple times, hoping to clear the storm that had settled in his eyes.

Now fully on his knees he saw the backside of HHH going up the last 5 feet of ramp and through the gate. He stared at the mans retreated form for a few moments, the burning hatred evident to even the fans in the last row of the arena.

Finally, he shook his head and continued to take inventory of his injuries before moving and causing something further damage.

He had taken beatings worse then this before, but having 5 young guys kick the shit out of you, choke you, and hold you down while another one chokes you, will leave you feeling like someone pounded your face into a cement wall. Then HHH came and practically did that.

After a minute he deemed it safe for him to move without causing further injury and sat up to his knees. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Shawn still rolling around on the floor, with his back arching off the ground. Every time he went to rest his side or back on the mat, the man's blue eyes would roll into the back of his head. Also, the cut on his forehead had reopened and blood and sweat began to pool up and trickle down the side of the mans face.

John slowly crawled over and carefully lent over him.

"Hey Shawn, man, I'm right here. We need to get you up, ok?"

All he got was a moan in pain and he screwed his eyes shut and continued to writhe and bow on the ground.

He pulled the man up to his feet gently, but not before Shawn's lower back rolled off of the mat and he let out a hoarse scream in pain.

"It's ok, I know it hurts man, but it will feel better if you get up, come on."

With more encouragement, within a few minutes Shawn was walking out of the ring and up the ramp while leaning heavily on the younger, bigger man.

As soon as he walked through the gate and backstage, Shawn's right knee seemed to give way and he tripped forward and started to fall bonelessly to the ground.

John reacted instantaneously and without thinking of Shaw's injuries he quickly grabbed around the mans narrow, toned waist and lower back, along the last few vertebras that could be seen through the layers of lightly tanned flesh.

As soon as his hands made contact Shawn's body tightened up with shock and he let out a nearly soundless cry as tears now joined the mixture of blood and sweat the ran down his face and neck.

"Ah, Jesus Christ. Shawn, Shawn, Buddy. I'm sorry. Lets get you in here… Were almost to the locker room…" and he grabbed the man by the wrist and guided him in to the nearest empty room.

Carefully, he guided the injured man over to the blonde wooden bench that was stationed between two rows of old, rusty lockers. John sat back and watched as Shawn teetered atop the bench, but seemed to be more aware.

Shawn took deep, meditative breathes in and out while trying to keep his back and sides from moving at all. John's adrenaline had worn off and he too sat and breathed in deeply as he watched the older man.

Shawn eyes were shut and he tentatively brought his hand up to his forehead where the wound was still bleeding, sluggishly. After some blind probing, the same hand came down his face and neck to his chest, leaving a bloody, sticky trail.

John watched in fascination as Shawns hand explored his injuries to his toned chest. That was when the Champ saw the angry welt that dissected Shawn's left pectoral muscles and was dotted with blood from broken capillaries. John leaned back and saw a map of different sized welts that dissected and intersected with each other. They all varied in a different shade of burning red and pink; a few even turning purple and yellow already. Two of them had split open and the raw wounds were glistening with un-spilt blood.

When John leaned forward again to focus on Shawn, the mans face was turned down, his chin resting on his chest, mimicking Johns earlier position in the ring.

Without thinking, John reached out and gently brushed the hair out of the Shawn's face and tucking it behind his ear.

"Shawn…" The man in question looked up and John saw the pain in his eyes, but what he was most impressed with was the rage he saw in the sky blue eyes. John gave a quirky crooked smile, complete with dimples. "Come on, dude. Let's get you cleaned up." And he got up to grab a first aid kit, a water bottle and a couple hand towels that were mounted on the shelves near the entrance into the room.

"Here", he gave Shawn one of the towels, and the man looked at the younger wrestler with confusion, "Lay on your stomach and bite down on it, cause this … well, this isn't going to tickle."

Shawn did as he was told, wincing while spinning his body to lay down in the correct position on the bench, his legs straddled the wood and one hand was keeping him balanced on the ground and the other had the towel near his mouth.

John straddles the bench behind the Icon and unscrewed the brown bottle of peroxide and pouring a generous amount onto a hand towel. "Ok, man, I am so sorry" and he gently applied it to a deep welt that was between Shawn shoulder blades.

Shawn bite down harshly on the towel and cursed loudly with the fabric between his teeth as John continued to wash the wounds and welts.

When John had reached Shawn's hips and lower back, the showstopper was curled up in pain and finally leapt up off the bench, turned to face a locker and slammed his fist into the paint-chipped metal. Meanwhile John stood and finished quickly.

Shawn was now cradling his hand in his other arm against him abdomen.

"Now be honest, did that really help ease the pain? Jesus Christ, Shawn. That didn't help and you know it!"

"It helped avert the pain." He replied hoarsely with a dry undertone. "And it was the locker or your face. And, well, my dad always told me not to bite the hand that feeds you. So, the locker it was."

John barked out a laugh, "Yeah, well. That's a good lesson, I guess" he said while he uncapped a bottle of antibacterial Eucerin lotion. "Save the hitting for the ring, and more importantly the damn Spirit-shit-squad." And he began to rub the cool lotion along Shawn's defined back and hips.

Shawn let out a groan, when Johns calloused fingers gently worked paths down and around his back and sides.

"Shit…" he moaned out when John finally stepped away.

"Hey! Don't make those sounds, Showstopper. Act injured!"

"Hey, you're the one groping me. You could at least buy me dinner first."

John chuckled before reaching around and dabbing at the blood that had started to dry between Shawn eyes.

"For real though, Bro. What are we going to do about the Shittlins." He asked, referring to the Spirit Squad.

Shawn's dreamer blue eyes held Johns cobalt blue ones, "Yeah, as much fun as it is getting beat up weak after weak. Something needs to be done." He looked on thoughtfully, "It was a lot of fun slapping Kenny like a child, though".

John shared the grin, "They're like goddamn high schoolers." He shook his head, "Did you hear the fans though? God, just an hour and a half before they were kicking the shit out of me with the boo's. When I get in the ring with you? It's like I'm the new favorite toy again. They're in love with you." He looked thoughtfully at Shawn , "And they really hate those damn kids in green".

"So maybe we should treat them like the pre-pubescent freshmen they are." Shawn and John shared a smirk. "We'll figure it out. I'm fucking done being McMahons whipping boy."

Shawn grabbed Cena by the shoulder and pulled him in, "Thanks John. Everyone that fucked with us, will get theirs. The crowd, they're fickle; but they'll love you again."

John stood there and nodded at the Icon and they left the locker room together.

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AN: So, RAW writers agree with me, Shawn and Cena have a lot of fuckin' chemistry together.

Please review, because if enough people review, I may write more after-RAW- episodes. Another one from May 1st is in production.

Oh yeah, this is not related to "Standing in the Way of Control", so you don't have to read it to understand. But you should. Because I worked hard on it, and people say that it's ok stuff.


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